Now My Feet Won't Touch The Ground
by Winter Sapphire
Summary: He doesn't know it, but each time he smiles at her, even looks at her, Claire swears she could fly, and that scares her more than anything. Peter/Claire, canon INCEST. Don't like, don't read.


Title: Now My Feet Won't Touch The Ground  
Characters/Paring: Peter/Claire, mentions of Angela and Nathan  
Rating: PG-13 (very borderline R, but nothing actually explicit so I don't think it needs to be rated that)  
Word Count: 3663  
Spoilers/Warnings: Implied sex but no actual description of it, incest. It takes place in an AU timeline, so no spoilers for anything except references to S1.  
Summary: He doesn't know, but each time he smiles at her, even looks at her, Claire swears she could fly. And that scares her.  
Disclaimer: I'm sorry to disappoint you, but, alas, I do not own Heroes. That privilege belongs to Tim Kring and NBC.  
A.N: This takes place about 3 years after season one, in an AU timeline where Peter almost explodes but doesn't. I kind of wrote it to the song "Flying High", which kind of popped into my head right after I saw the challenge prompt and refused to leave. The title is a lyric from Coldpay's "Strawberry Swing", which I thought fit well. I have finals this week, but I still churned out almost 4000 words in--well, actually, less than 24 hours--I was done this yesterday. XD I probably failed my Philosophy final, but I wasn't going to pass it anyway. Yeah, so, lots of UST and such. You'll see. :) I hope you guys like it.

**_____________________________________**

_But I'm flying so high  
high off the ground  
when you're around  
And I can feel your high  
rocking me inside  
it's too much to hide_  
--Jem, Flying High

**_____________________________________**

Her heart beats almost painfully inside her chest as she listens to the movements in the room next door. Everything he does is so painfully clear to her; she can hear the ruffle of his clothes as he throws them into the closet (it's right beside the upper left corner of her room, she realizes), the squeak of his bed as he settles onto it, and she is _almost_ convinced she can hear him sigh as he stares at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom.

Claire lets out a shaky, slow breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to force the thoughts out of her head. She's sure Peter has picked up Matt Parkman's telepathy by now, and the idea that he'd even have the _chance_to catch a stray thought of hers by accident is too big a fear for her to just continue daydreaming like any regular teenage girl, so she forces her thoughts down another path.

Is it still daydreaming if it's at night, she wonders? Or is it nightdreaming? It can't be just dreaming, she figures, because she's not _quite_ asleep, and that would just be too confusing. Maybe it has some fancy clinical name--she should look it up in the morning. And oh, God, if Peter ever knew what she had been thinking about earlier he would probably never speak to her again and she's not sure if she could handle th--no. No.

Claire groans, rolling onto her stomach and stuffing her face into one of the many pillows strewn across the top edge of her bed. Maybe if she could just smother herself it would get these thoughts to finally stop and she could rest easy knowing Peter would _never_ know what she had been thinking.

A knock on her door jerks Claire out of her mind, and she blinks as she hears it creak open a little; she's not really surprised when she hears his voice and Claire tries desperately to keep herself from blushing. _Oh, no, he heard me._

"Claire?" he murmurs, and Claire grunts a little in acknowledgement, hears him sidle further into the room and can practically feel his gaze on her. She still refuses to roll over and face him. "Claire, are you okay? I thought I heard you groaning. Are you sick?"

He sounds so worried that Claire can't help but turn herself back over, sitting up and trying to ignore the fact that she's wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts and--no, she's not going down that road again. She swallows. "Uh, yeah--I mean, _no_. I'm fine. Peachy. You know, just... getting used to a new bed?" In her mind it's a weak excuse, but he seems to accept it; Peter shrugs a shoulder, smiling a tired version of his lopsided smile at her. Claire beats the butterflies threatening to rise down as she smiles back.

"Okay," he says with a short nod, tangling his fingers in his hair as he scratches the back of his head. "Uh, well, if you need me I'm right next door."

"Yeah." Yeah, she knows.

He slinks back out, shutting the door quietly behind him. Claire can hear him climbing back into his bed, imagines him staring at the wall separating their two rooms.

Somehow, she thinks wryly as she settles underneath her own covers, she's sure Angela set this up on purpose.

Claire falls asleep facing the wall.

-----

She's washing dishes in the kitchen the next morning after breakfast when he comes in, and she can sense his appearance before he even says anything to her.

"You know you don't have to do that," he comments in amusement, leaning on the counter a bit. "We do have servants who usually do this. They're kinda standing awkwardly outside the kitchen right now, actually." Claire shrugs lightly as she inspects the plate for any stray marks, setting it aside once she deems it clean.

"I used to do the dishes every morning at home," she tells him as she grabs another one, keeping her gaze firmly locked on her own hand as she moves the dishrag around in an automatic circular motion. _Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat_. "I guess it feels nice to be doing something that's actually _normal_ for a change."

Claire hears Peter chuckle, and he suddenly sounds _much_ closer than before. When his hand appears out of the corner of her eye she bites back a gasp, and any attempt at keeping her stomach from erupting again fails immediately when he places his hand over hers in an attempt to take the rag, stilling her monotonous circles.

"I never had to do dishes as a kid," he comments offhandedly and Claire wonders if he even knows how much of an affect he has on--_lather, rinse, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat_-- "and I had a dishwasher in my apartment. Maybe I can take over?"

"Um," she tries to swallow in a way that wouldn't draw attention to it, but its loud even to her own ears. He's just doing it to be nice, she tells herself. Peter's _always_ nice, to everyone, and she's sure that if she had been one of the kitchen staff then he'd be more than willing to help her then, too. "Um, y--yeah," she manages to say, handing the cloth over to him and setting the dish down in the sink. "I was just going to... you know, take a shower after this anyway so--so I guess I'll go... do that."

He's at her side rather than behind her by then, and Claire flashes him a quick smile of what she hopes Peter will interpret as a silent 'thank you' before hurrying out of the room. She's in her room within thirty seconds, fighting not to slam the door behind her as she heaves out a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding.

Claire quickly gathers up a change of clothes before heading towards the bathroom, and it's only when the steaming water starts to soak through her hair and skin that she remembers that she had begged Peter to let her use the shower earlier that morning. She leans her forehead against the tiled shower wall in defeat.

"I am so fucked."

----

It can't even be twenty minutes later that she steps out of the bathroom, head wrapped in a towel and newly dressed. Peter's already waiting for her, sitting somewhat awkwardly on her bed and figuratively twiddling his thumbs as he stares at the ceiling.

His eyes meet hers instantly, and he quickly shifts to the side and pats the spot beside him. Claire's eyes flick nervously to the door and she wonders just how far she could make it before Peter caught up. She's not sure if he's picked up super speed by now, but she's sure he wouldn't need it if he really wanted to catch her.

Claire licks the inside of her lip as she hesitantly moves to sit beside him, trying and failing to ignore the intensity of his gaze.

"Claire?" Peter asks softly, but she keeps her head bowed low. "Claire, look at me." His voice softens a fraction as he adds, "Please."

Any resolve she might have had fades at his pleading tone, and Claire glances up at him.

"Did I do something wrong?" He questions, brushing back a piece of her hair that had fallen out of her towel. "Are you mad at me?"

"What?" Her eyes widen slightly and she shakes her head furiously, and the towel falls onto the bed beside her. "Oh, no! No, no, no, I'm not mad at you, Peter." She laughs with incredulity at the thought, and Claire can see the relief wash over his face instantly. Peter breathes out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair as he laughs as well.

"Good, I don't know if I could deal with you being mad at me," he says, bangs falling down in front of his face as he leans forward slightly to whisper, "I might feel the need to explode again."

Claire blushes, half out of frustration and half out of embarrassment, as she whacks his shoulder as hard as she can. "Don't even joke about that!" Peter holds one hand up in his defense while the other rubs his shoulder.

"Ow, yeah, sorry," he apologizes. "Not funny. I know. Sorry." He smiles apologetically at her, catching her gaze again, and unless she's imagining it (which she probably is; it wouldn't be the first time) his eyes flick down momentarily to her lips. Claire can almost swear he's started to lean forward when he suddenly pulls back, standing up briskly and clearing his throat as his eyes dart around the room.

"Um, I guess if you're not mad then... I'll just go do..." he waves his hand carelessly, "...whatever it is I was doing."

"Right." Claire nods, and Peter starts to turn away. Her arm seems to be moving of its own accord when she reaches out to grasp his sleeve. "Wait!" He glances curiously back at her, and Claire's mouth opens and closes._Why_ had she stopped him? "I... you're so totally my hero, Peter." Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

Peter grins, picking his arm up to slide his hand into hers, giving it a quick squeeze. "You're _so_ totally mine too." Claire smiles shakily at him, releasing his hand to let him actually leave, and she lets herself fall against her pillow once he's out of the room.

She wonders how long it will last before they have this conversation again.

----

The answer is two weeks later, the day of the gala Nathan was hosting to celebrate his tentative new position in the Senate. She was invited, of course--not that anybody was going to have any clue who she really was. As far as the press--or anyone, really--was concerned, Claire was just the daughter of a family friend who had to leave the country on business. It stung a little bit--she _really_ wanted her biological father to accept her as his daughter, especially now that she was living in his house--but she understood. At least she was still invited to the parties.

Angela had picked out her dress for her, and as much as she loathed the woman Claire had to admit she had fabulous taste in clothes. The green dress went down to just below her knees, and it had just the right balance between slinky and modest that she felt comfortable wearing it. It kind of unnerved her how much Angela seemed to know about her tastes in clothing--she had said from the beginning that she'd always made sure she was okay, but Claire hadn't realized that had involved keeping tabs on all her middle and high school dances.

Sometimes she wonders just how many other people had been 'keeping tabs on her,' too.

Peter and his date--some girl he had gone to nursing school with, Claire remembers wryly--are waiting for her by the door when she comes down. The date makes a soft noise that sounds like some sort of weird cross between a squeal and a cough, but Claire's eyes are locked firmly on Peter's as he takes her in. She can see his breathing slow as he stares at her. The heat of his gaze causes her to involuntarily shiver.

"Wow, Claire," he breathes out, slipping his arm out from around his date's waist and taking a few steps closer to her. "Wow--you look... you look _amazing_. Just..." he trails off, not that he was having much success forming words in the first place, and Claire smiles shyly at him as he surveys her again. "...wow."

"Thanks," she murmurs, and she swallows, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before she gathers the courage to lean up and forward to kiss him quickly on the cheek. "You, too."

Claire's eyes shift over to the date, who's watching them both with a curious eyebrow, and she clears her throat. "Uh, I guess we better get going, huh?"

Peter blinks, shaking his head lightly as he walks back to his date, offering his arm and she takes it graciously. He pauses for a moment before turning and offering the other one to Claire, and she follows suit.

"Nathan hates it when I'm late," he agrees, and the next thing Claire knows the three of them are in the waiting limo and headed towards what the New York Times had called the '_party of the year_.'

----

It's the party of the year all right, Claire notes; she's had to have seen Tom Hanks at least three times, and she's pretty sure she bumped into Scarlett Johansson about ten minutes ago. For someone who never even got to go to a high school prom it's mind-boggling, and Claire leans heavily against the rail of one of the balconies looking over the crowd.

She can hear Peter approaching before she sees him, so she isn't surprised when he leans on the rail next to her, glancing over the crowd idly.

"Kinda overwhelming, isn't it?" he intones, and Claire nods silently. "Yeah, I've dealt with these things for most of my life and I still hate going to them."

"Where's your date?" Claire asks abruptly, and as if he had been expecting the question he motions to the bar with a smirk.

"She's flirting with the bartender."

Claire frowns, following his gaze and sure enough there she is at the bar, chatting animatedly with the man across the counter. "That doesn't bother you?" Peter shakes his head, bangs flopping out of the gel he had used to slick them back to fall into his face.

"Nah, Tessa and I are just friends. She broke up with her boyfriend a couple days ago and I thought this might cheer her up."

Claire smiles a little to herself, bowing her head. "She seems pretty cheered up to me."

"Yeah, I'm not really worried at her." Peter grins for a second before it falters, and he adds, "I am worried about you, though."

Claire feels her shoulders tense in apprehension, and she says firmly, "I'm _fine_, Peter."

"No, you're not." His hand is under a chin within seconds, lifting it gently up so that she's looking at him. Peter's eyes search hers questioningly, and though Claire feels like she should be moving away, yelling at him, doing _anything_ but just standing there, she finds that... well, she's just standing there. The feel of his thumb just barely brushing the corner of her mouth sends chills down her spine and she's not sure she could move away even if she tried.

"You said you're not mad at me," Peter murmurs, voice confused, "but you still avoid me like I'm some sort of deadly disease."

"I can't get sick," Claire reminds him quietly, and she suddenly finds that it's _way_ too difficult to breath; her heart is hammering and her chest feels like it's the nail.

"Doesn't change the fact that you're still avoiding me," Peter counters, and Claire forces her eyes closed as she lets out a slow breath.

"It's not you," she tells him firmly, shaking her head. "I mean, it is, but--no, it's not. Just... this would be _so_much easier if you just let the subject drop!" She cries out in exasperation, jerking away from Peter and backtracking. "I need some air. I'm sorry."

"Claire--" she hears him start, but she's already pushing her way through the crowd of people and headed towards the outdoor balcony. Claire can feel his eyes on her back even as she pushes her way through the double doors leading outside.

The chill of the November air on her skin is comforting to say the least, and Claire lets out a shaky breath as she leans over the railing to stare blankly at the ground below. She wonders if there's anyone down there that would notice her falling and healing, of if maybe she could get away from this entire party if she just could work up the courage to jump.

"Don't even think about it," Peter's voice murmurs close to her ear and it startles Claire enough that she almost tumbles forward over the rail anyway.

"Christ, Peter!" Claire hisses, whirling around to face him. He's standing close, but she already knew that. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You can't _get_ heart attacks. You can't get _sick_, remember?" He practically throws her words back in her face, and somehow he manages to move closer, arms resting on the railing on either side of her and his gaze imploring as he pleads, "You have to tell me what I'm _doing_, Claire."

"What you're doing?" Claire repeats dumbly before confessing, "Peter, you're _intoxicating_." His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"I'm _what_?"

"Intoxicating," Claire repeats frustratedly, and if her arms weren't firmly locked at her sides by his own she's sure she would be tearing at her own hair by now. The words fly out of her mouth without her consent, "You're just--I want to be around you all the time because whenever I am I feel like I'm high or that I'm flying or something. It's so confusing because it hurts and I don't know how to handle it, so I just _run_, all right? I'm not running from you, I'm running from _that_, so can you... please, let it go now?"

It's then that she notices how the tips of his fingers are just barely grazing the inside of her elbow, how the chill of the air and the cold press of the metal rail has suddenly disappeared for a much warmer, much firmer place to lean against. Claire's mouth falls open a little as she cranes her neck to peer past Peter.

"Where the hell are we?"

"My old apartment," he answers automatically, looming over her a bit as his dark eyes search hers. Claire feels her mouth go dry.

"And what..." she whispers, "are we doing here?"

"I don't want to run anymore." He leans even closer and Claire swears if her heart wasn't already trying to beat out of her chest, it was now. "Do you want to run anymore?"

She answers him by grabbing the lapels of his tux, pulling him down to her and crushing her lips against his. Peter gives a strangled _mmph!_ of surprise as if he hadn't been expecting her to kiss him, but he lifts her up effortlessly the next moment, pressing himself against her fully as he leans them both against the wall. His mouth attacks hers desperately, nipping and sucking, and Claire can hear herself yipping involuntarily at the sensation.

"How long?" she manages to gasp out as his mouth slowly trails from her mouth to the curve of her neck and chin, and he sighs against her as his nose grazes back and forth on the area just below her ear.

"Since I saw your painting," he admits, moving to nibble idly on the lobe of her ear. "Since you ran into me in the hallway. Since you visited me in the jail cell. It's crazy, but I think I may have loved you ever since Hiro told me to save the cheerleader."

Claire grabs at his hair, running her fingers through it the way she's always wanted. "When I first saw you in the hallway I felt like I _knew_ you, even though I was sure I had never seen you before. I thought that meant I had to meet you, so I... casually bumped into you."

Peter blinks, pulling back a little to smirk at her. "That was on purpose?" Claire blushes, nodding slowly.

"Peter, the entire hallway was _deserted_. You honestly thought I didn't see you standing there?"

Peter laughs as he leans in to kiss her again. "You are amazing," he murmurs against her lips, and the years of pent-up passion that had momentarily died away seems to flare back up immediately. Claire clings to him, arms twisting around his neck as his hands grip her waist, and her legs wrap around him on instinct as he pulls away from the wall and stumbles clumsily towards the bedroom.

Peter lowers her gently onto the mattress, one of his hands coming up to cup her cheek as he kisses her while the other strokes idly at her hip through the fabric of her dress. It creeps slowly up her side, wrapping around her back to finger at the zipper of her dress.

"Wait," Claire groans into his mouth as he starts to pull to zipper down, and he jerks back as if he had been waiting for her to make any indication that this wasn't what she wanted.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--I thought that you--" he stammers slightly, scrambling to get off of her, but Claire grasps his shoulders and pulls him back down.

"Don't be an idiot, Peter," she admonishes lightly. "I want this. I _really_ want this. But--there's no going back, you know that right?" She bites her lip. "We're not supposed to--"

"I don't care anymore," he cuts her off, slanting his mouth over hers again in another hungry kiss. "I'm not going to fight this for another minute. I _can't_. This destiny may be fucked up, but it's ours and it's about time we met it." He kisses her again and again, deep and urgent as if he'll never get another chance.

Claire breathes Peter in, feels as she starts to lose herself in him like she has ever since she first met him. She knows he's all she ever really wanted, all she really _needs_, and her last coherent thought before she falls into his high completely is a silent thanks that whoever re-leased the apartment isn't home.

She's not sure if either of them could have stopped long enough to teleport back to her room.

**_____________________________________**

_I know, oh yes  
I know that we can't  
be together  
but, I just like to dream  
It's so strange  
the way our paths have crossed  
how we were brought together  
hmmm, it's written in the stars it seems  
_

**_____________________________________**

* * *

Written for the pairechallenge prompt "High"! Would love feedback, as per usual! :) Thanks for reading!

--WS


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